


Killer Smile

by softspacedad



Category: Barry (TV 2018), Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: Crossover, Fluff and Smut, Just Dudes Being Dudes, M/M, barely smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softspacedad/pseuds/softspacedad
Summary: Nigel has worked with NoHo Hank for years now, and he would do anything for him, including working with the one guy he had heard so much about and had wished to never meet: Barry Berkman.
Relationships: Barry Berkman/Nigel (Charlie Countryman), Barry Berkman/NoHo Hank (mentioned), Nigel (Charlie Countryman)/Adam Raki (mentioned)
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This super odd pairing literally just came into being after one conversation with a friend, so even if few people read this, I had a blast writing it, and hopefully some will enjoy reading as well!!  
> Nigel curses a lot (sorry woops), and also uses pet names with Hank sometimes, nothing romantic, he’s just like that! As always, Hank’s mistakes in English are entirely on purpose.  
> Thanks to the wonderful alekstraordinary for proof-reading. Enjoy!  
>   
> Character descriptions for crossover context:  
> \- Nigel is a loud-mouthed, angry and passionate Romanian guy who's into some shady business. He swears a lot (a lot) and just wants for people to let him do what he does best (crime, it's crime). (main character)  
> \- Barry is an ex-marine turned hitman who wants to become an actor. He's pretty quiet, always thinking about how he's going to save the mess that is his life. He's a great killer but doesn't like being one. (main character)  
> \- Hank is a Chechen mobster who works in Los Angeles. He is always positive, always cheery, but you better not mess with him. He was always Barry's number one fan (even if the feeling wasn't really mutual). (side character)  
> \- Adam is the sweetest man in the world, honest, strong, and kind. He is on the autism spectrum, and is very passionate about space. He used to be Nigel’s boyfriend. (mentioned).

“Fucking America…,” Nigel cursed under his breath, a cigarette hanging from his lips, his hand tugging on his patterned shirt in a desperate effort to cool down as he rested his back against the wall of a convenience store, in the shade. He got a few looks from passersby; it was not uncommon for the strong, mean-looking and tattooed man to draw attention. Nigel did not mind the stares anymore, he knew all too well what he looked like, and how he was able to instil fear in the hearts of many by simply looking at them in the eyes. Plus, he had better things to think about, like how much he hated the Los Angeles heat. He had grown up in Bucharest, and although he did not entirely miss the messiness of his life there, there were days when he would almost get sentimental thinking about snow. 

He had arrived early for his meeting with the boss, and now that he found himself waiting in the heat, looking at the young and “hip” population of Los Angeles, he couldn’t help his mind from wandering back to how he had gotten there in the first place. It wasn’t that he had not liked working in Bucharest, it used to be his whole life actually. Nigel had always felt like the only thing he was good at was cracking skulls and getting up to dangerous things his Mama would not be too proud of. He was well-respected in the criminal underworld, and his goal had always been to do what he did best; not attract any unwanted attention, and hopefully, he’d be put to rest sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, he was always a little too smart for his own good, and a few years earlier, when Nigel was around 30, the criminal bosses had started taking notice of his wit, and especially his talent for languages. His Mama was from Romania, but his father, whom he had never met, was an English tourist who had made a quick visit to Bucharest, had knocked up his Mama, and had not hesitated for a second to leave her behind. As a kid, Nigel could only picture his father the way she described him, as a handsome and kind gentleman, and Nigel had started fostering the dream of leaving Romania to find his father: to do that, he had thought, he had to get good at other languages than his own. By the time he had realized that he would never find his father and that the English bastard wasn’t worth the trouble anyway, Nigel had already become one of the smartest students in his school, although that had gradually been tainted by his bad behaviour, until he had finally dropped out of school when he was 16, a few months after his Mama had passed away and he was left to his own devices. An orphaned teenager in the poor neighbourhoods of Bucharest did not have many options in life, and he was already strong and quick enough to slowly work himself up the ladder of the city’s criminal world, until he was spotted by one of its bosses, Darko, and sent to the United States, somewhat against his own will. To be fair, Nigel understood why he had been picked to be the mob’s representative in Los Angeles: he could speak many languages, mostly Eastern European, he already had connections all over, he was definitely not as useless as most of the other gangsters, and he had a reputation as someone who could be trusted. Still, being on his own, away from home, in a city that was definitely too goddamn warm for his liking, could sometimes get on his nerves. 

Nigel was taken out of his reminiscing thoughts by the intrusion in his field of vision of a tall, lean, polo-wearing, bald man with a bright smile on his face: Nigel’s boss in the Chechen mafia, NoHo Hank. When Nigel had started working in Los Angeles, he hadn’t been under Hank’s orders immediately, and they had worked together for quite some time before one became boss and the other stayed in his comfortable position of a regular gangster. They had formed an unlikely but strong friendship over the years, Nigel appreciating Hank’s politeness and honesty, something that reminded him of the only two people he had ever loved, his darling Gabi back in Bucharest, and Adam. His Adam, whom he had left some time ago not from a lack of love, for there had been plenty of that between them, but because Nigel could see his ‘lifestyle’ slowly getting to Adam and ruining his well-being, and he would be damned if he was going to damage his angel. So for now, Nigel remained single, indulging in meaningless one-night stands for the sake of easing his nerves, and enjoying honest friendships like the one he shared with Hank. 

“I’m so sorry I am late, Nigel!” Hank exclaimed, handing the other man a paper bag that had the logo of a popular L.A. bakery on it. “Business discussions were not ending with Cristobal, but I got you a doughnut to apologize.”

“Business discussions, eh?” Nigel asked, taking a bite out of the doughnut, his eyebrow lifting teasingly, a smile widening his lips as he saw the desired effect of his joke take the form of an embarrassed blush spreading across his friend’s face. Everyone working in the L.A. Chechen and Bolivian mafias was aware that the merger of both gangster groups under Cristobal and Hank’s leaderships had led the two men to develop a relationship that went a little further than strictly professional.

“Heh…” started Hank, shaking out his blush, “I wanted to meet with you because I have something important to discuss.”

“Want me to be your best man at the wedding? That’s too fucking sweet of you, Hank,” Nigel teased. Even though Hank was now his boss, their friendship had not changed, and Nigel thoroughly enjoyed joking around with him, certain he would always get a reaction out of Hank’s pure soul. Truly, it was a mystery how Hank had ended up in that line of work given how sweet he always was, but then again, Nigel had been in the business long enough to know that everyone has their secrets, and everyone has their reasons.

“There’s no wedding- oh, I see, you are being funny man again,” Hank sighed, not without an eternal smile on his face. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, but believe me, you will absolutely be my best man if I get married.”

Nigel smiled at that, and the two men started walking, making their way back to the stash house. Over the years, Nigel and Hank had built the habit of meeting in town regularly, preferring to discuss whatever they pleased out of Goran’s intimidating earshot--they had since then kept it up.

“I have a bit of a weird request for you,” Hank continued, “and I would not ask if I did not think you were best person for the job. Do you remember Barry Berkman?”

“Barry? Of course, how could I forget the fucking prick who almost broke your heart?” Nigel said, a mean smile curling his lips. “I still can’t believe you didn’t let me kill that dickhead for you.”

“It’s not important anymore, what Barry did. We can put it in the past.”

“Put it in the past? That’s a bit out of character for you to say shit like that, but okay, I’ll bite. What about him?”

“Well, actually…” Hank started, his eyes drifting off into the distance, as he tried to carefully pick his words. “I’m going to need you to work with him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Hank?” Nigel erupted, the two men stopping in the middle of the street. “I’ve wanted to shoot that fucker in the head ever since the first time he manipulated and used you, and now I’m just supposed to pretend like he’s not the biggest asshole on the planet and what, work with him? Why?” 

“Nigel, please…” Hank whispered, and the worried look on his face was enough to turn Nigel’s anger into concern. “The Chechens back home, they...they sent me bullet in mail. They have suspicion I am protecting Goran’s killer, and they are going to kill me if I don’t tell them who it was.”

“And? Tell them it was Barry, since that’s the fucking truth, and be done with it. I don’t get what the problem is.”

“I can’t just tell them it was Barry,” Hank sighed, “I know you don’t like him, but I care about him, and I couldn’t tell them it was him, so...I told them it was Esther, head of Burmese mafia.”

“...But that’s not true.”

“I know that! But now that is what they think, and I need to protect myself and Cristobal, otherwise, I’m dead man. Problem is, my men are not so strong.”

“They sure fucking are not,” Nigel scoffed, “I work with them every day, and they’re neither the brawns nor the brains. What does Barry have to do with all of this then?”

“Barry agreed that since I am saving his life by not saying he was the one who killed Goran, he owes me. He has agreed to train my men, but I am too busy to be there myself. I need someone there who works as in-between, and I trust no one but you to do that.” 

Nigel looked into Hank’s worried eyes as he took in the weight of what the Chechen was asking. Of course, it made sense, and even though Hank had gotten himself into this mess in the first place by covering for Barry, if Hank needed his help, then he’d provide it, always. God knows Hank had gotten him out of more than one sticky situation in the past, and this would be a good chance to start repaying him.

“You know what? Sure, I’ll fucking help you. I’ll work with the guy and be as fucking cordial as I can, as long as he doesn’t piss me off.”

“Thank you, Nigel!” Hank smiled. “It should not be too much, just for as long as my men need training, which should be over quick.”

“I doubt that very much,” Nigel chuckled, “but sure, I’ll supervise them for as long as you need me to,  _ îngeraș _ .” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Îngeraș = Romanian for “little angel”.


	2. Chapter 2

A few days later, Nigel received a text from Hank with the location of where he and Barry were supposed to train the Chechens, along with a message reading “please be nice” with pleading eyes and praying hands emojis, giving the message its usual Hank flair. Nigel rolled his eyes and smiled at the message, before getting into his car, and driving to what turned out to be the middle of a deserted area near Los Angeles. “ _Pulă,_ as if I needed the fucking heat, again,” Nigel thought to himself.

Nigel parked his car on top of a small sandy hill, as he saw many of the Chechens waiting patiently on what appeared to be their new training grounds: on the sand, there were firearms, boxes, and a variety of objects that could be used as targets. As he stepped out of his car, Nigel noticed a man he didn’t know, dressed in all-black with a black hat, standing at a good distance from the rest. He looked upset out of his mind, his arms crossed on his chest. _God_ , if Nigel was going to make it through this, he was going to need a smoke. He put a cigarette between his lips, lit it, and made his way to the Chechens, giving them a slight nod before heading straight for the mysterious man.

“Hm, I…” the man started, finally noticing Nigel’s presence, “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here, sir. Who are you?”

“I’m Nigel, who the fuck are you?” Nigel smiled, his tone playful but sharp.

“I’m Barry. Barry Berkman?”

“Are you fucking asking me?”. There was no way this could be _the_ Barry that Hank had spent hours talking about with stars in his eyes. Nigel had never seen such an annoying, boring-looking fucker in his whole life. “Hank asked me to come to supervise the training to make sure _you_ ,” he pointed a finger at Barry’s chest, “hold your end of the fucking bargain and don’t leave these idiots even worse off than they already fucking are.” 

“Hank… assigned me a chaperone?” Barry replied, an offended look on his face, his brows knitting in an almost comical expression.

“Believe me, I’m not here for my own fucking pleasure,” Nigel commented, taking another drag out of his cigarette before turning to the Chechens, “Alright, fuckers, listen up! You know me, but you probably don’t know this guy here. His name is Barry, and apparently, he was a fucking cop or something, I don’t know, and I don’t care. What matters though is that you wimps are going to learn from us how to properly shoot, defend yourself, yatta yatta yatta. Any questions?” 

“Uh, aren’t they going to need a translation for what you just said?” Barry asked. “Without all the unnecessary cursing and name-calling.”

“They speak English like I do,” Nigel answered, defensive. “Do I look fucking American to you? And yet you still understand all my ‘unnecessary cursing’, so no, they’ll be fucking fine,” he turned away from the guy who was getting on his nerves more and more by the minute, and repeated, “Any questions?” 

A low mumble went through the crowd of around thirty Chechens, but no definitive question arose. 

“Right!” Nigel flicked his cigarette to the ground. The sweet voice of his Adam reminded him ‘ _Even gangsters should care about littering, Nigel, it is unsanitary and harms the planet’._ He dismissed the thought, and declared, “Let’s fucking get to it then!”

\-------------------

“Good, now hold the position. Don’t drop your shoulder. You’re gonna have to stay steady if you want to hit this can _that’s not even fucking moving._ ” Nigel sighed as he watched one of the Chechens attempt, and fail, to shoot a target set up on their improvised training grounds in the Los Angeles desert. They had been training for about a month now, and there was no real definitive progress overall, which was wearing thin on Nigel’s already limited patience. Hank’s men seemed to think that this was like summer camp, and their supervisors did very little to keep them motivated: Barry kept silent pretty much the whole time, and Nigel could not bring himself to care even a little. The two had exchanged only a handful of words, and this whole plan to train the Chechens seemed like it was going nowhere. Exasperated, Nigel turned his head to see if his… coworker? Business partner?... If the guy who seemed to own an endless supply of black clothing was making more progress than he was. Nigel was mildly surprised to see that Barry wore an expression even angrier than usual, and it only briefly occurred to him to ask why before Barry charged at one of the Chechens -Mayrbek-, shooting right next to his ear, and yelling:

“You think this is some fucking game? Huh? You lose your focus, you give the other guy a chance to fire, you’re dead! Kill!! It’s the only word I want in your fucking head! Kill.”

He stepped away from the dead-silent crowd of gangsters, fuming, tucking his gun back into his waistband. Nigel remained as shocked as the others for a few moments, before letting out a small laugh, feeling almost impressed. He could see the Chechens did not dare to move again, and Nigel clapped his hands and yelled: 

“You heard the man, now the show’s over, back to fucking work!”

Nigel made his way to where Barry had resumed his usual position, standing with his back straight and his arms crossed on his broad chest. Nigel had recently learned from Hank that Barry had in fact been a marine before becoming a hitman, and he could recognize that in his posture and gaze, always fixed ahead of him, unwavering.

“That was pretty badass of you,” Nigel stated, his hands finding their place in the front pockets of his black jeans, his blue dog-print shirt flapping about in the wind. All he got in return was a quick look, and a grunt. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you express an emotion that wasn’t boredom before.”

“Well,” Barry replied through gritted teeth, his eyesight still fixed on the horizon, “I’m tired of them acting like this is all a joke. I don’t know about you, but I sort of have better things to do.”

“You and me both,” Nigel took his cigarette pack out of his back pocket. He placed one between his lips, and continued, “Want one?”

“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”

“Suit yourself.”

Silence fell between them, and Nigel felt that he didn’t really care. He had found Barry to be less despicable than he would have wanted him to be; clearly, the guy was going through some stuff. That didn’t excuse how terribly he had treated Hank, rejecting him over and over, and only using him when it served his own gain, but Nigel knew what it was like to want so badly to be a good person, and yet the task being infuriatingly impossible. He had stopped caring and had completely given in to the life of crime, but Barry didn’t seem to be there yet. A small voice in his head reminded him that if, like Barry, he had tried a little harder at being the good guy, he might have been able to keep Adam around a while longer, but there was no use thinking about that now. Besides, Nigel figured that if Barry relaxed a little, they might actually end up having things in common. Hank was one of the best friends that Nigel had ever had, but sometimes his constant optimism was a little too intense.

Nigel was about to ask Barry if he thought they should kick up the training a notch when Barry’s phone rang. The hitman picked up: 

“Hello?... Yes, Hank… Yes, I’m still training your men, and Nigel is here… I don’t know, probably at least another month, they’re really not giving us any kind of positive results… You want me to do something else for you?...Hank, are you serious? You think I don’t-.... Yeah, I know I owe you, but-... Get Nigel on the phone? Uh, sure.”

Nigel was handed the phone by an increasingly angry-looking Barry, and put it next to his ear: 

“Hi, Hank.”

“Nigel!” the voice on the other line exclaimed. “It is so good to hear your voice. How are you?”

“I’m sweating my ass off in the desert, training the lazy bastards you call your men, trying to stop the fucking American from exploding, what do you think?” he let out a small laugh, “I’m fucking peachy.” 

“Thank you so much, Nigel, you know how much this means to me.”

“I do, Hank. And sure, I’d rather be off doing anything else right now, but you know, happy to help.”

“Do you think it would be overdeath for me to ask you another favour?”

Nigel didn’t correct him on his wrong use of the expression “overkill”, but instead ran a tired hand on his equally tired face, and replied: “I think you’re taking it a bit fucking far, yeah, but okay...what’s up?”

“Cristobal and I are getting concerned because of rise of a new mafia group in Los Angeles. Did you know the French have gangsters?”

“I’d argue the entire fucking world has gangsters, pumpkin, but I didn’t know the baguettes were becoming a threat over here.”

“Yes, well, they are. They stole shipment from Cristobal and me, and since almost all of my men are with you and Barry training, I am defenseless. I cannot take the risk of us becoming even weaker, in case we have to fight the Burmese mafia.” 

“So, what do you want us to do?”

“We found the location of one of their main stash houses. It is well situated in the city, but I am sure they do not have beautiful interior like we do. I need you and Barry to raid the stash house, weaken them. Barry has done it before, and I know you have too, so it should be peace cake, right?”

Nigel looked at Barry’s face, and understood the anger that had found its place there. That was a lot to ask from them, especially by calling it a “favour”. Raids, Nigel was good at, it wouldn’t be his first time affirming his undeniable authority over another gang. But they were a lot of work, and could quickly turn incredibly sour. There was no way Barry or him could take on that job alone, so it made sense that they would work together, but Nigel didn’t know if he trusted the other man enough to risk his life with him. He thought back to a few moments prior, the sheer power Barry seemed to exert when he had intimidated Mayrbek. He thought it through a few times in his mind, before putting the phone back close to his ear, and saying:

“Sure, we’ll do it,” Nigel ignored the shock on Barry’s face, “but after that, you better send me on vacation to the fucking Bahamas or something, I’m getting too old for all this shit.”

“I will go super easy on you after this, I promise.”

“Sure you will.”

Nigel hung up, and handed Barry his phone back. He could feel that rage was about to come bursting out of the hitman’s lips, so he casually said:

“I’ll have Hank give me your number, and we can arrange when we’re going to fucking do this. I feel like I can count on you, and I wouldn’t want to make those pretty blue eyes of yours cry, so you better fucking show up.” 

Leaving Barry properly intimidated and put back in his place, Nigel took a drag out of his cigarette and headed back for his car, away from the scorching heat of the desert.


	3. Chapter 3

The job had gone over well, better than Nigel had expected it to, even. He and Barry had discussed the details of the raid only a few days after Hank had asked them to take care of it, and they had surveilled the comings and goings of the stash house a handful of times before taking action in the middle of the night. It seems like Hank didn’t have much to worry about, because most of the French gangsters they had taken down while raiding the stash house were somehow even weaker than the guys Barry and Nigel had spent a month trying to train-- them stealing cargo from the Chechens and Bolivians had probably been a stroke of luck. Barry had joked that it was probably because of the high levels of wine in their blood, a joke which had made Nigel laugh sincerely, for once. 

In fact, the job had gone over so well that Nigel almost didn’t feel rage in his guts whenever he looked at Barry. He felt… something, but not rage, not anymore. The hitman was still incredibly annoying, with his arrogance and constant need to convince everyone, and himself, that he was a good person, but Nigel found that it hardly bothered him. During the raid, Nigel had felt that he could really count on Barry, and when the job was done, they had exchanged a glance, like they recognized each other as equals, without a word being spoken on the matter. It was a silent mutual understanding that they’d both done some pretty questionable stuff, and both thrived in crime and violence, but that neither of them found a lot of enjoyment in it, it was simply what they were good at. 

And so, they had gotten right back into training Hank’s men in the desert, but this time, with a newfound energy. Conversation came easier to them, they were able to discuss better strategy and exercises, and it was more motivating for the Chechens to see their two mentors get along. There had been a couple of times where Nigel had caught Barry smiling or looking enthusiastic, but every single time, his expression had dropped back to his usual look of boredom, almost like he didn’t want to be caught enjoying himself. That was something that the Romanian didn’t entirely grasp-- clearly, Barry had his place in this world, much more than he did in… what was it he had told him he wanted to pursue? Acting? Well, whatever it was, there was no doubt for Nigel that Barry was a killer, and the sooner he saw that, the easier his life would be-- not that it was simple to give up the chance at a normal life, a fact Nigel knew all too well. 

Just as Barry had predicted, after about another month of training, Hank’s men were ready. Or “as ready as they’re ever gonna be”, were the exact words that the hitman had used. All of them knew how to properly hold a gun, shoot, disarm an opponent, even fight in close combat. It was their last day, and Nigel would be damned if he wasn’t feeling a little bit sentimental-- after all, he had always been a passionate man:

“Let’s see them fucking try to take on you guys now, huh?” he shouted, standing next to Barry, a slight smile on both of their faces. That got him a big reaction from the Chechens, who shouted and danced, celebrating the end of their training and thanking Nigel and Barry for their dedication. As the celebration wore down, and the men started making their way back to town in the (stolen) school bus they used to get around, Nigel focused his attention back on the man he now would call his friend, and who he wasn’t sure he would see again, after all of this. That thought tugged at his heart lightly-- there was something comfortable about the relationship they had formed, saying few words, but enjoying the knowledge that they had each other’s back and understood each other. But hey, Nigel thought, Barry wasn’t exactly a one-hit wonder, and soon, he would be back to working under Hank’s direct orders, drinking, smoking, and fucking everything that moved, and the hitman would be long forgotten. The world, however, seemed to have different plans for them: 

“You doing anything after this?” Barry asked.

“I beg your pardon?” Nigel replied, barely hiding the disbelief in his voice.

“I’m sorry, that sounded like a cheesy line. You just look like a man who enjoys a nice beer, and I thought… since we’re done with training, you might want to get a drink? To celebrate?”

Nigel took a few moments to weigh the proposition in his mind: he took into consideration the slight blush that seemed to have spread across Barry’s pale cheeks, the fact that Nigel rarely had strong plans for his day, and mostly that the idea of going to a bar sounded _really fucking good_ to him in that moment. So, he shrugged and said:

“Who am I to say no to booze? Let’s fucking go.”

\----------------------------

“He wore a _wig_? And fucking showed up to where you work?”

“Yes, he did. He pretended to be asking me about some women’s gym shorts, and he stood out so much, I’m surprised no one brought him up again.”

“That sounds like Hank, alright.”

Nigel took another sip of his third beer of the night, the liquid warming his insides pleasantly as he laughed along with Barry. The two men had found refuge in a bar neither of them had visited before, but which had turned out to be pretty quiet, the wooden decor and old-fashioned ambiance much more to their liking than the usual flashy L.A. bars. After his first sip of beer, Nigel was forced to admit that Barry had had a brilliant idea bringing them here. He hadn’t realized how tense this whole training-the-Chechens thing had made him, and now that it was over, he welcomed the opportunity to relax and chat with the one other guy he had gone through that with.

“Man…” Nigel sighed. “I’m so fucking glad this is all over. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Barry replied, his eyes lowering to where his hands were joined around his beer bottle, resting on the counter, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eh, never mind, you don’t care.”

“I’m fucking asking you,” Nigel bit back, “so unless this is about to turn into some thirty-minute fucking TED Talk, tell me.”

“Well,” Barry sighed, “I guess I just realized that doing all of this… I felt good? I felt like I was doing something useful, you know? And sure, they’re going to utilize that training to do illegal things, but they’re also going to be able to defend themselves and their friends, and that’ll be thanks to me. And you, of course.”

“I get what you mean,” Nigel took another sip of his beer and looked at Barry, who seemed to be desperately avoiding eye contact, “I gotta ask, why do you hate that stuff so much? The crime, I mean. From what I can tell, you’re pretty fucking good at it, and like you said, it gives you a purpose or some shit, so why do you fight it?”

“Well, do _you_ enjoy the criminal life?” Barry said, defensive.

“No, I don’t,” Nigel answered immediately, the honesty in his voice surprising them both, “but it’s all I’ve ever fucking known. It’s all I know how to do, and I’ve never felt like there was anything else in this goddamn world for me. It’s what I’m made for, whether I like it or not, and I’ve made peace with that a long time ago. I do have my fucking fun though, I practically get off on people fearing the very mention of my name, but sometimes I wish things didn’t have to be this way. The fucking love, Barry, that’s what really drives me.”

“Yeah, I think I know how you feel,” Barry finally looked at Nigel, and his eyes seemed to be filled with a mixture of sadness and gratitude, “I was pretty young when I joined the marines, and as soon as I got back, this friend of my dad’s who’s like an uncle to me… he got me into this business, and I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t believe that there was anything else I was good for.” 

“You’re alright, Berkman,” Nigel said with a smirk, “Although I have to admit, I sort of hated your fucking guts before I even met you. I don’t anymore, so don’t worry, I’m not about to pull a fucking knife on you, or something.” 

“You… you did?” Barry replied, looking almost offended.

“Hank is like a little brother to me, I would do anything to protect his shiny fucking head, and you hurt him. Bad. He tried so hard to be there for you, and you just treated him like garbage.”

Barry’s eyes went back to staring at his beer bottle, his shoulders tensing. Nigel thought for a moment that he probably shouldn’t have been that blunt, but he knew better than to care about someone else’s _feelings_. However, instead of the fit of anger Nigel had expected, Barry simply sighed and looked back up with true sadness painted all over his face:

“I know that,” he said, his voice barely stronger than a whisper, “but I never meant to hurt him. I just didn’t want him to care about someone like me. I didn’t want him to waste himself on me. He can do better.”

Barry’s words went through Nigel’s heart like a cold blade. Memories of the day he had told his darling Adam that he was leaving came flooding back, the sounds of books being thrown on the floor, Adam’s screams, the feeling of his delicate hands hitting Nigel’s chest and then clinging onto it in a desperate effort to keep him around, to understand what was happening. But most of all, Nigel remembered the feeling of hopelessness, because he wanted so badly to wrap his arms around Adam, to tell him that he never wanted to leave, that he loved him, but he had to force himself to keep in mind that this was for the greater good. _Screw the fucking greater good,_ Nigel had thought again and again in the months that followed, drowning in alcohol and meaningless encounters, the bright blue eyes of his space man never leaving his mind for a second. He had done it, hurting Adam and himself this way, because it was the right thing to do. Adam hadn’t seen how terrible of a person Nigel was, so he had had to force him to see it. 

“I’ve had something like that happen to me too, kinda,” Nigel surprised himself saying, “this guy, Adam… cutest kid you’ve ever seen. Eh, he hated it when I called him “kid”. For all the fucking filth in my heart, I couldn’t bring myself to have him ruin his life for me. He was too fucking good, an angel. So I did what I thought was the brave thing, but it really was just me being a fucking coward, and I left him with no explanation. Thought it was better this way, if I didn’t have to hear him trying to convince me to stay.”

If Barry was shocked by this revelation, he had the good sense of hiding it, and went right back to focusing on his beer. Nigel didn’t regret mentioning Adam. No, that was never the issue on Adam-related regrets, and it actually felt nice to have someone get it. But as the silence between them stretched, Nigel began worrying that he might find his reputation of a tough guy with no weaknesses in the gutter the next morning. However, to his surprise, Barry lifted his eyes back up to meet Nigel’s and said:

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

Nigel held Barry’s gaze for a few moments, something warm in his guts mixing with the alcohol, then grabbed his jacket in silence, stood up, and headed for the door. When he realized that Barry wasn’t following him, he turned his head back and said, his voice thick:

“What the fuck are you waiting for?”

Nigel smiled as he saw Barry’s eyes widen, and walked out of the bar, aware that this time, the other man was following right behind. They walked in silence for a while, Nigel having every intention of bringing Barry back to his apartment, before his train of thought was interrupted by him getting shoved into a side alley by two strong hands. Before he could register what was going on, his back hit the wall, and a firm arm was against his chest, keeping him in place. Nigel had half a mind to tell Barry to fuck off, that he wasn’t the one who usually got pushed around, but the other man was taller, broader, and the fierceness in his eyes knocked the words right out of Nigel’s body. A toothy grin spread across his face, causing Barry to ask, a hint of arousal in his voice:

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing’s funny, Barry,” Nigel answered, “I just didn’t fucking think we’d end up here. But I don’t blame you, not many people can resist my killer smile.” 

And just like that, Barry’s mouth was crushing against Nigel’s, his hand moving from his chest to his neck. It wasn’t sweet or tender, it was rough, desperate, brutal: Nigel fucking loved it. Their teeth were clashing, hot breaths stinking of alcohol merging, and Nigel was pretty sure that the hand Barry had on his neck would leave bruises, and that didn’t bother him in the slightest. _Pure fucking passion_. 

Between two breaths, as desire grew in his stomach and his apartment seemed further and further away by the second, Nigel drew back, just to get a good look at what he was going to have a joy exploring sooner rather than later. Barry’s hair had fallen in strands on his forehead, the blue of his eyes overshadowed by his wide pupils, and he was panting, his red lips wet and swollen. _Holy…_

Nigel smiled.

“Fuck you, Barry Berkman.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming along on this wild journey with me! My twitter is @softspacedad if you wanna find me there.


End file.
